


After You

by CarrotsandDragons



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Clan Lavellan - Freeform, Female Character of Color, Friendship, Gen, Hanal'ghilan - Freeform, Lavellan Backstory, Multiple Lavellans, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-09 01:14:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15256191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarrotsandDragons/pseuds/CarrotsandDragons
Summary: Before arriving in Halamshiral for the decennial gathering of the clans, The First asks Virelle to accompany her on a journey to find Hanal'ghilan, the Golden Halla of legend and myth.She agreesKnowing this is perhaps the last adventure they will take before Adaara takes the mantle of Keeper of their Clan, Virelle tries to find a way to close the distance between herself and her oldest friend.





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was, she thinks, the day that everything changed.

The proudest moment of Adaara’s life, she thinks, was the moment she was chosen to be First.

‘Pick me.’

She was silent, her emotions and expressions near impossible to read–but despite the control she held in her dark features, her golden gaze seemed to scream: ‘pick me, pick me, pick me!’

But Deshanna stayed quiet: her posture stern, face stoic—cold despite the early morning heat; and like every Keeper before her (and every Keeper after) Deshanna wore the color of creation–green.

Virelle watched the pretty fabric of her robe shift like leaves against the morning breeze because everything else was quiet.

And the silence was resounding.

But then someone sighed behind her, Deshanna turned her steely gaze, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Virelle remembered she wasn’t watching this alone. Her clan stood together in a peculiar array; a sea of brown faces, young and old, gathered together to watch the proceedings.

Like Virelle, most were quiet, soundless in their curiosity. Meridan, however, grew restless—his boredom growing. But as Deshanna turned to look at him and he met her weathered gaze, both fear and dread spread across his naked face.

It was rare for those considered children to attend the more sacred proceedings of the clan, but when they did they were expected to carry themselves well. It was for that reason many of their friends were missing; like Meridan—but unlike Virelle and Adaara who carried both silence and the marks of June exceedingly well—their faces were bare.

Deshanna watched him for a moment, her dark skin flushed warm beneath the heat. Meridan stepped back behind Felen, his brother, his deep purple gaze cast downward in apology.

The exchange was grueling.

So when Deshanna’s eye’s snapped forward, the world exhaled a sigh of relief and all was quiet again. As though nothing at all happened, Deshanna turned to face the girls again with scrutiny, her fingers curled around the wood of the staff she would gift to one—her apprentice, the First of the clan.

‘Pick me.’

Adaara was the second, already in training and technically the next in line. But Mera, who stood beside Adaara with a look more nervous than pleading, would be easier to shape; She was younger, more timid, less proud than Adaara was.

But what Deshanna needed, what the clan needed, was loyalty.

No one knew why her first apprentice wanted to leave, but rumors spread throughout the clan like a great climatic wave.

‘Something scared her in the wilds; she was inconsolable for days; she wanted to get away.’

But when Virelle asked Adaara about it, a strange look spread across her freckled face; like a child caught with her fingers in a jar of honey—she looked startled, afraid.

“How would I know,” she started, plucking at the berries that grew beneath the shrubbery.

“Maybe she just wasn’t strong enough to be the Keeper. That’s why wanted to join another clan—she ran away.”

Whatever the case, only one thing was certain: Deshanna couldn’t make the same mistake.

‘Pick me.’

“Adaara,” she spoke after what felt like an eternity, “you shall be my first apprentice. Mera, you will be the second.”

Murmurs of joy and pride echoed through the crowd, their voices rising like thunder on the distant sea. Adaara beamed; her face split into a large grin that bared the gap between her teeth. And though it was the dead of summer, and her skin was tinged a russet hue, Virelle swore she saw her cheeks grow redder as her eyes spread wide with both joy and relief.

“Yes Keeper,” Adaara crossed her legs and bowed deeply, Mera did the same.

“Come, Da’len.

We shall prepare you for the ceremony.”

Virelle, still too short and close to the ground, was shifted behind the others as the clan parted to make way. Nevertheless, she caught Adaara’s eye.

She smiled at her, her face and posture brimming with happiness and pride; a pride that carried her off to a place Virelle could no longer see.

 


	2. Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before arriving in Halamshiral for the decennial gathering of the clans, The First asks Virelle to accompany her on a journey to find Hanal'ghilan, the Golden Halla of legend and myth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chronologically, this story takes place 2 years before Inquisition, during act 3 of Dragon Age 2.

“Deshanna will  relinquish her role as Keeper”

“It’s time for Adaara to take her place.”

“It’s too early!”

“It’s about time.”

The whispers came and died like the frost beneath the mornings light. And though they were only rumors, the words drove their camp into a quiet frenzy.  
Everything felt electric.  
She felt joy for her oldest friend, of course, but Deshanna had been Keeper much longer than the 30 years Virelle had been alive; The thought of that changing made her breath hitch and stomach ache.  
She sighed. And as she did, poor Virelle watched her breath leave her body in a smoky plume of white.   
Today, she thought, shifting as though to test the weight of her heavy winter pelage, should be a happy day.

The signs and smells of a festival wafted through the air as the clan prepared their best for the impending  Arlathven, the gathering of the clans.  
Everyone was busy with something: cooking, crafting, cleaning— even the hunters were kept busy, out with the scouts collecting supplies. The children recited their lessons with sour faces, keenly aware of their position beneath their Hahren’s careful eye and even the Halla seemed ready, their new saddles polished and embellished with intricate designs. Songs and murmurs filled the air.

Virelle worked alone, however, sitting by the shade of a skinny cottonwood tree. 

“A special request from Adaara,” the master craftsman said, her tired expression brimming with pride, “something only you can make.”  
And so she did—she and about 4 other members of the clan—worked diligently for weeks.   
Now, however, she sat idle, waiting. And with nothing else to do but arrange her tools into careful lines, Virelle tried—and failed—not to overthink.

It wasn’t uncommon for a Keeper to announce their decision to retire on the first day of Arlathven. It was, after all, important business.  
And Deshanna seemed busy, having been locked away in her aravel with the elders for three straight evenings. They were not to be disturbed for anything else than an emergency.   
So with Deshanna all but gone, Adaara took her place with ease. She watched everyone carefully, making her way around their camp with long, purposed strides. And as she walked—chin up, back straight, robes flowing—Virelle remembered early days, back when Adaara struggled to match Deshanna’s pace. 

  
“Do not lag, Adaara,” She’d say, “keep your back straight.”   
Now, she all but floated across their encampment, drifting like a breeze; Adaara checked on each and every member of their clan, checking on their work and well-being.   
She stopped only once: to check the progress of this year’s Tapestry.

The Tapestry was a dazzling array full of life and meaning—it was a collection of the year’s important memories: births, deaths, marriages, discoveries, each carefully recorded and preserved for posterity.

Elori, who sat amongst bundles of yarn, pots of beads and paint, greeted Adaara kindly.  
Like Adaara and Virelle, Elori adorned her cool brown skin with the proud marks of June: the patron of their clan. What set her apart, however, was the deep purple robes she was made to wear.

Despite her young age, the gift of making existed stronger in Elori than it did in anyone else in their clan, and for that, she underwent the ritual that marked her position as the Hand of June.  
It was Adaara, in fact, who convinced the elders to bestow to Elori that, the highest honor of their clan.  
“It has to be her,” she said with powerful conviction, her belief enough to bend the strongest steel. “there is no one else.”

The two of them spoke briefly, ending their conversation with a nod and a curtsey. And when they finished, Adaara approached Virelle quietly.   
Her body cast a shadow across the table, distracting Virelle from the work she pretended to finish.  
“Virelley,” she greeted, something expectant in her voice.   
“Hello Adaara,” Virelle nodded politely, setting her tools aside once she noticed the parchment that lingered in her oldest friends hand. She assumed it was another commission, that Adaara needed something to be built. She was surprised, however, when she placed a map across the table instead. 

  
It was charming, the map; its segments were bold and carefully dyed, embellished in whimsical details that captured the essence of a thousand stories. The writing at the bottom suggested that Adaara was the one who made it and Virelle looked at it with widened eyes. It was the deep purple lines of a trail, however,  that lingered on in Virelle’s mind.   
Part of the trail matched the journey their clan took along the southern border of the Free Marches (from Antiva to Neverra and back again,) the most curious parts, however, extended straight into The Dales, stopping abruptly in the Heartlands, marking the exact location their clan now camped. The map was punctuated by little circles that, together, seemed to form a larger circular shape. 

“I’ll be embarking on a journey,” Adaara explained, “I have every intention on arriving in Halamshiral in time for the Arlathven, however, I must go here,” she pointed to the biggest spot on the map, the center of the Frostback Mountains. “The Clan will continue following the Imperial Highway, of course, but we’ll be cutting through the plains  from where we are now.”   
Virelle nearly nodded in agreement before coming to realize what it was Adaara really said. 

“We?”   
She opened her mouth to speak, narrowed her eyes, stopped herself, and sighed. 

“Yes, ‘we.’ I…find myself in a position where I must ask for your…assistance.” She said the word as though it was foreign to her tongue. “If you will, then you, Elori, Felen and I shall journey to  the Frostback Mountains and return before the first day of the gathering.”   
Virelle blinked, confusion stirring in her belly as her options were laid before her.   
If Adaara bothered to ask Felen for help, Virelle thought, she must have been searching for something. He was the best tracker in their clan. 

“What’s in the mountains?” Virelle finally asked.

“Hanal'ghilan,” Adaara told her, “The Golden Halla.”

* * *

 

“What?” Virelle wasn’t sure she heard Adaara correctly, so she asked that she repeat herself again. When she did, Adaara thinned her eyes into golden slits, her annoyance laid bare for the world to see. Nevertheless, Adaara repeated herself again. 

“I’m looking for Hanal'ghilan.” Despite her face,  her voice remained level, almost calm as though she expected this line of questioning.

“But why?”

In contrast to Adaara, Virelle allowed shock and worry to take her voice and face completely; her eyes went wide and she lowered her voice. This wasn’t a conversation to have so loudly yet Adaara seemed to feel no shame.   
Hanal'ghilan was a legend. They all knew the stories of her blessing other elves with good fortune in times of need, but never had Virelle heard of anyone hunting those good graces before. She was too elusive, too much of a myth, impossible to capture selfishly.

“I plan to find her. You’re invited to come along but if you refuse, you’ll not speak a word to anyone until I return.” Adaara spoke those words with surety, with confidence, with conviction enough to bend Virelle’s will.

“You really think you can do this?”

“Of course I can.” The sun began to fall down into the horizon, setting the sky ablaze in vivid shades of orange, red and blue. The colors set their hair aflame, like a pair of candles on golden plates.   
Red hair, dark skin, and gold eyes—from a distance they could be mistaken for siblings. But where Adaara tucked her feelings beneath a mask of iron, Virelle preferred to wear them on her sleeve.   
So when Adaara smiled for the first time that day, Virelle knew her feelings had betrayed her, that her dark features shifted, baring her curiosity for the world to see.

“Why the Frostbacks?” Virelle wondered. How could Adaara possibly know? 

“I’ve been studying. I have spent the last year or so speaking with our beloved Hahren, as well as those of the color clans we’ve encountered in our travels; I’ve sent our couriers with letters requesting stories from those further away—with varying levels of success— but  from what I’ve been told, these are the places she’s  been sighted.” She pointed down to the circles on the map. “She appears to move in cycles, so by that rationale, she should be in the Frostback Mountains again.”   
As she spoke and looked down at the detailed illustration of Hanal’ghilan’s sun-strewn antlers, Virelle could feel her heart beating in her chest.  It was a leap of faith, even for Adaara, but the chance to see Hanal'ghilan outweighed the risk of failure entirely.   
But before she could agree, before she ventured away from the clan, she asked another question.

“Why are you looking for Hanal'ghilan?”

Adaara paused as though she wasn’t willing to say, but when it became clear that Virelle wouldn’t give her answer till she gave her own, she turned her head aloofly, her focus on the children who gathered together in time to eat. 

“It’s nearly spring,” Adaara began, “she should soon be dropping her antlers.”   
Virelle felt her heart drop to the bottom of her feet and her lips turned down to follow. Whatever it was she’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. 

“You want to chase a legend for its antlers?” 

“Essentially, yes.” 

“Why?” Adaara paused again. 

“To prove that I can.” The air was thick with the scent of stew and hearth cake, their fragrance born aloft by the gentle sway of the evening wind. The smell grew stronger, thicker, as silence lingered in the air between them. 

“You want the antlers to sate your pride?” Virelle stood up, nearly knocking into her latest invention, the device Adaara tasked her to make.

“I want the antlers to cement my place as Keeper of this clan!” She raised her voice but lowered it just as quickly, careful not to draw attention toward herself. “ I need to bring them to the Arlathven.”  
It was then when Virelle understood.

When a Keeper announced the start of their retirement, it marked the beginning of The Shift. It then fell upon the First to present new knowledge to the Keepers of the other clans. It was a way to measure their capabilities and a chance to bolster their clan’s esteem. Essentially, Virelle thought, it was a high-stakes game of show-and-tell.   
If Adaara did well and managed to impress, then she would be Keeper in all but name.

The Shift was a slow process, a means to ensure a sense of continuity and peace. Within the coming years, Adaara would be given more and more responsibility and then, when she was ready and all Deshanna had left was her name—Adaara would take the title too.

  
Still, something bothered her about this. 

  
The Lavellan’s have always been artisans, builders, makers of things—not hunters of highly sought game (they left that to the Ralaferin Clan.)  
It was common knowledge. Everyone knew the story of how Deshanna impressed the others by crafting glass that didn’t break, managing to surprise her own Keeper, Lathra, who presented the design for the Aravel’s their clan used today. There was Keeper Leviya, one of their earliest Keepers, who waved first weaved a basket so tight it could hold days worth of water. Someone, she couldn’t recall who revived the method of Elvhen pottery, another of making special clay, and of course there was Keeper Vayra, said have worked bones into weapons so strong they put steel to shame. 

  
Adaara herself was an adept tailor, a clothworker (and apparently map maker as well.) She could work the color into dye so effectively,  her clothing never lost its luster. Virelle assumed that, when the time came, she’d reveal her secret, create a new method of dyeing cloth or even leatherworking but that didn’t seem to be the case.  
She wanted to chase a near-mythical being.

“No one doubts the existence of Hanal'ghilan,” and if they had, they kept it to themselves, “so why bring its Antlers to the Arlathven?”   
“I told you; to prove that I can.” Virelle frowned but Adaara continued adeptly. “If you don’t want to go, I can ask someone else. If you do, however,  I’ll find a way to get you some ironbark to work with.”

Virelle looked down at her diagrams, eyes filled with an impossible glee. Then she turned, slowly, to the thing she’d been building.

It was the biggest project she’d been permitted to build on the grounds of their encampment.   
It was something of a small Aravel though it was less of a ship and more of a canoe. It was similar to the little wind sailors their cousins in the Anderfels used to scout ahead of storms, but the smooth panels near the bottom were replaced by wheels to account for more bumpy terrain.

“Oh yes, my request. Are you finished?” Adaara wondered, pressing the pads of her fingers together and examining the design. It wasn’t yet painted, not yet polished, but the building was done so Virelle nodded, still mulling over Adaara’s request.

“Excellent. Will it work?”  
Will it work? Virelle would have been offended had the question not been sincere.   
Will it work? She let the question mull over in her mind before nodding again. The sails could be deployed and the mast controlled with a system of pulleys and it stopped much the same. 

“It will.” 

“And will you be joining us for its maiden voyage?”  
The question lingered in the air for just a moment before Virelle resigned. She sighed, her breath a long plume of white.

She was defeated.   
It was important to see how her invention turned out and, well, she wanted ironbark to use freely. 

“Fine,” she told her, and Adaara smiled dearly. “I’ll go with you.” 

“I knew you’d come to see it my way.”   
Smug, Adaara looked as though she had more to say, but then a crow came flying at her from the sparse woodland area. It cawed alarmingly, beating its wings as though to stop its flight in midair. It was holding something.  
Adaara, calm as always, raised her arm before it, allowing it to have a stable perch as it dropped an orange stone in her hand. It cawed again.  
He was one of Adaara’s crows, Deimos she thinks (though he looked exactly like his brother.) 

“Just a moment, Virelle, it seems to be an emergency—what is it?” She asked and Virelle recognized that tone, a lingering sweetness beneath her iron mask of scrutiny.   
Deimos cawed more, as crows tended to do, and Virelle stood awkwardly as they completed their exchange. 

“I see. Thank you; I will punish them accordingly.” Adaara said with a hint of glee. Virelle hoped that smile was due to her crows good training.   
Adaara fished a treat from her pocket and the crow was off again, scouting the camp for his brother and more trouble to report. 

“What was that?” 

“The hunting party is on their way and are approaching rather loudly, likely in celebration.” She showed the stone to Virelle before sliding it into her pocket with a sigh.

“It seems my work is never done—where were we?”

“When do we leave?”

“ Oh yes. We leave tomorrow morning—” Adaara turned to walk away, her purposed steps carrying her proudly. 

“Wait, what?” 

“Don’t worry. You’ve made the right choice, Virelley!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Part 2!


	3. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adaara, Virelle, Elori, and Felen begin their epic journey and Virelle begins to doubt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a little shorter than the other but is so far one of my favorites. With it, I have finally published the full summary.

She packed what she needed for a long trip away; the elders and her parents were scarcely informed, told only the barest details of what the journey would entail.

By the time the sun rose the next morning, her Windwagon (she decided to call it) was perfectly stained and polished, it’s sails dyed a most vibrant shade of red; there were a few baskets strapped down to the bottom and Felen pulled excitedly on the rigging of the sails. Nervously, Elori watched him— her grey gaze shifting back and forth as she measured the strength of the railing.

Like every day since she'd been chosen, Elori wore a purple tunic, her sleeves adorned with golden lace. The colors not only told of her position but distinguished her as the person Adaara chose to elevate; like the sails, her colors were impossibly vibrant, putting the sky and evening flowers to shame.

For a moment, Virelle wondered what Adaara offered them to come along on her journey, had she taken a kinder approach? Or had she been similarly persuasive, domineering.?  
She supposed that for Felen, the glory of tracking a legend offered motivation enough to leave. Elori, however, was a mystery. She wasn’t a hunter or a scout, she had no particular desire to gather or stray too far from their camps in the past—she’d much rather spend time with her crafts or conjure up fortunes with bones tossed into the fireplace.  
  
“This looks to be a fine vessel, Virelle! Tell me, how long did it take to build it?” Felen greeted cheerfully. He was a little older than the rest of them but held twice the amount of energy. Unlike most of the hunters, who chose to honor Anduril, he wore the mark of Sylaise.

Virelle remembered how pleased he looked when emerging from the Keeper’s Aravel that day, with the dark purple lines of Vallaslin freshly inked across the golden hues of his shining face.  
‘I might be a hunter,’ he said, ‘but it’s a hunter's job to keep their home.’

No one was surprised when he relinquished the title of headhunter after marrying.  
But now, with his bow strapped across his back and the locs of his hair pulled back into a ponytail, Felen looked eager to relive his adventuring days.

“I started when we settled here,” Virelle explained. Had it not been for the scale of the project and the fact she’d only been given the past few weeks, Virelle would have liked to have built it alone.  
Adaara made it clear that Virelle would take the lead, but not even her words could stop the others from fussing over the design when she was no longer there to watch them.

“Magnificent!” Felen started, “We all wondered what you were making.”  
With a smile, Virelle placed her pack beside Elori’s; taking careful measure to secure it to the railing.

“Where’s Adaara?” She asked, overseeing her neatly packed items sitting beside Felen’s things.

“As it seems, she is saying her goodbyes to Keeper Deshanna,” Elori told her, “and I suppose giving Mera a lecture in responsibility.” There was a smile in her voice, it pulled at her lips and broadened with knowing sympathy when Virelle let out a heavy sigh.

They would only be gone two weeks, Virelle thought with a mental shake of her head, two weeks—but of course, Adaara would find a way to antagonize the Second until the very end. She could almost hear the lecture droning, feel Mera’s distress— see the embarrassment that brought more color to her tawny cheeks.  
Their relationship was complicated, to say the least.

Nevertheless, Adaara strode toward the wagon as if on cue, stern and prepared to take command.  
She was dressed in her signature shades of gold and green, staff tied to her back securely.

“Are you ready to leave?” Her question was met with a jumble of responses, each a variation of yes. “Good.” She tested her footing on the smooth floor of the wagon, unrolled her map, then handed it to Felen. He took it eagerly. She also handed him a pouch with an abundance of navigational tools and other devices they'd likely need.  
Regardless, Adaara pushed the pads of her fingers together and spoke assertively.

“You’ll be navigating for us, Felen—Virelle, you’ll take the sails. Elori will be on the lookout.” She instructed, standing before the Windwagon’s mast. It took a moment for Virelle to realize what it was she intended, but once the three of them settled into their assigned post and Adaara raised her hands, the air around them quieted.  
She invoked the name of Ghilan’nain, grant us speed, and with a single push forward, filled the sails with a gust of wind, propelling the wagon quickly.

Elori clutched her heart, eyes bulging as the coils of her smoky hair pushed backward, shifting like clouds in the spring. She clung onto the side of the railing. As she did so Felen cheered erratically, Virelle beamed with pride, and Adaara stood focused, stern as not to lose her footing against the rough terrain.  
The world around them whirred in motion, melting into blurs of green, brown and grey.

They were all but flying.

* * *

 

Felen did well to keep them on course, directing Virelle to move and shift the sails accordingly.  
The wagon made a straight shot across the flatlands, moving at a steady rate with the force of Adaara’s magic to push them. They went on for what felt like hours until she pulled back and let the movement of the soft morning wind propel them gently.

The moment they came to a stable stop, Felen cheered again and leaped off the wagon.“  
That was incredible!” He boasted, “A fine piece of workmanship, good job Virelle!”

“Yes,” Elori groaned, sliding slowly from the back of the wagon, relieved to find perches on solid, unmoving land, “a fine work indeed.” She was shaken but nodded toward Virelle surely.

“This is a suitable place to rest,” Adaara interrupted, studying the map momentarily. “You’re free to eat breakfast from the baskets if you’d like, but I'd rather save what we have for our trip up the mountains.”  
Adaara made an upward motion and an eerie group of vines split the ground, bursting through the earth to wrap around the wheels of the wagon, holding it securely.  
But despite having told the crew to rest, Adaara spent their break placing flowers and grass into a box of dyes, tools, and lacquer. She sat at the base of the mast, overlooking the rest of the wagon as Virelle searched for anything that might have come undone during the length of their ride.  
Felen sifted through the baskets and expressed his discontent with a particular food item Adaara chose to prepare.

“Did you really have to bring pickled lemons?’ He asked her, “Isn’t that a bit much for a hunting trip?” Adaara looked up from her box, her golden eyes narrowed into slits.

“You’ll soon thank me.”

“I don’t doubt it, Great Leader.” He nodded and soon darted off to explore after grabbing a handful of salted meat.

Elori kept to herself, drawing something that looked like spiraling branches thrusting from the trunk of a skinny tree.  
It was quiet until Felen returned, the proud owner of four large salmon he fished from a nearby stream.  
“I saw signs of wolves,” he warned, salting the fish eagerly, “while they shouldn’t be trouble since there’s plenty to eat, we should be careful moving forward.”

“Are there many wolves located in the Frostbacks?” Elori asked, her expression worried.

“Let's see; there are wolves, red lions, bears, and brontos I think. Maybe a dragon but I doubt we’ll see it.”

“Oh, my,” Elori spoke, her breath wavering.

“Don’t worry Elori, I know how to keep us safe! I’m very lucky—” He let out a boisterous laugh, confident in his feelings, “and besides, we have Virelle and our great leader, Adaara, with us. The only thing we have to worry about is freezing.”

“You aren’t helping.” Adaara narrowed her eyes at him again, prompting Felen and Virelle to discuss their strategies for avoiding wild beasts and keeping warm with Elori.  
And as they did, Adaara continued working quietly, crushing petals and organizing her things.

They broke for about an hour before resuming their journey.

It became a pattern of sorts; even at night when they made a fire and did their best to enjoy each others company, Virelle, Felen, and Elori made a habit of pointing out the ruins and chatting idly.

Adaara would look on, but her attention was always stolen by her maps or collection of pretty things. Sometimes she’d practice magic on the bones of their leftover meals before handing them to Elori for fortune telling, but rarely did she choose to engage in their conversation or listen to their stories.  
And it reminded Virelle of the early days of her training, back when they were eight and Adaara learned she was a mage.  
She and Deshanna would stand together, practicing magic by the riverbank, her first apprentice watching as streams of light and fire blossomed from Adaara's hands. She’d smile, eyes wide with promise as she showed off her newly mastered spells.

Virelle remembered playing by that same riverbank, splashing in the water and looking for rocks in the sand. Someone, Corrill maybe, jumped into the water to scare the fish, prompting a lecture from the Hahren.  
From a distance, she could hear Adaara’s giggle, her center shifting slightly.

“Focus Adaara!” Deshanna told her. “You haven’t the time to play like before.” Things were now different from before--she was different than before.

“Yes, Keeper!”  
It was a lesson, it seems, she heeded carefully.  
So when they spotted a pack of wolves on the move against the horizon and Elori recalled the story of the Emerald Knights, Virelle was shocked to see Adaara listening, if even for a moment, before promptly returning to her work.

The days of constant travel took their toll, (Virelle was sure she heard Felen tell the story of him besting the same wooly boar-- the one with glorious tusks that gleamed like daggers in the darkness of the night-- at least twice before,) but, eventually, they came to see the Frostback's mighty peaks.  
The flat plains of The Dales gave way to rockier terrain, curving hillsides, and thick shrubbery. The frost felt ever-present, the stiff grass hard beneath their feet.

“One more day if we’re lucky,” Felen said as they huddled around the cookfire, “if we keep this pace.” The top of the mountain was obscured by fog that gleamed silver by the moons’ light.  
The heights of the Frostbacks were cold and barren all year round, it’s grounds thick with ice and snow.  
Virelle wondered how they’d find Hanal'ghilan in such an unfamiliar place but her thoughts, however, were interrupted when Elori looked up from her drawing and asked, “What do you think is the most powerful shape?”  
There was something about the way the fire adorned her, illuminating the richness of her cool black skin that made Virelle consider her question earnestly.

She thought.

“Triangles,” She said after a moment, “They offer the most stability.” Felen nodded in agreement and Elori took a moment to consider her reasoning.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Virelle blinked back in confusion as Adaara spoke suddenly. She’d taken a knife to the bones of their dinner as though she were carving something. Her the red of her hair was bright against the fire, helping illuminate her solemn gaze.“Elori asked for the most powerful shape, not the strongest; A triangle may provide more stability when building, but circles are undoubtedly the most powerful shape.” She told them and Virelle felt the beginning of a monologue coming.  
“Circles represent a continuous flow of power, they represent the cycles that govern nature. It is in understanding that cycle and our place within it that allows us to travel safely and hunt. It’s through it that a mage learns to harness her power and call upon the elements to do her bidding.”

“I thought mages got their power from the Beyond,” Felen tilted his head in curiosity. Virelle let out an inward groan but continued to listen tentatively.

“Is the Beyond not another part of nature? Magic, too, follows this cycle. It is only by understanding the cycle can we dictate how it changes. It is a cycle within a cycle.”

“Like a river joined to a running stream,” Elori began, going back to her sketching, and after a moment spoke again, “or the shape of a Halla’s antler.” For a moment the camp grew quiet, still as though to let Elori’s words soak into their skin.

“Yes, I suppose that makes for an excellent analogy,” Adaara answered, a scrap of amusement present in her voice.

It was Felen who broke the quiet a moment after and filled the air with idle chatter.

That night, Virelle took watch with Elori as Felen and Adaara slept. It was too cold to sleep on the wagon so Felen pitched their tents and they went their separate ways for the evening.  
Virelle was tired, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the antler and cycles and Hanal'ghilan.  
She looked across the fire to Elori who, liked her, looked exhausted but continued her sketching.

“Elori,” she whispered.

“Yes?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course. What’s on your mind, Virelle?”

“Why did you decide to come with us?” It was a question she had before they left but Virelle hadn’t the chance to ask her. Elori only smiled. She rose from her seat, treaded quietly around the fire, and took a place at Virelle’s side.

“Adaara asked if I’d be willing to make a stave for her she was very much convinced only I possessed the skills to do it.” She showed Virelle her ink covered page.  
The most recent additions were illustrated loops inlaid with circles at, what Virelle assumed to be, the bottom of the staff. The top had the same branch-like structure as before but now they twisted upward, intertwining into the shape of a halla’s antler.

“She wants to make a staff from the antler?” Something in her stomach dropped.  
Bones and antlers were often used as part of their crafts but something about using Hanal'ghilan’s antler in such a way felt wrong, ugly.

She was more myth than creature and the fact that Adaara would use her antler for a decorative piece was abhorrent at best—and though she may be ambitious, it didn’t suit her personality.

“In essence, yes. Though I feel as though there’s more than that.” Elori shifted and looked into the fireplace. “Adaara is more than capable of carving her own stave. And if she truly needed another craftsman, she would have had an easier time convincing Keeper Deshanna to allow for anyone else to accompany her. Yet she still chose me. The question of why is what lead me here more than anything. Are you worried about her reasoning?”  
The question threw Virelle by surprise but she had to answer honestly.

“It just seems a little far to go for crafting supplies.”

“You certainly aren't wrong. Which is why I think there is a grander purpose in this,” Elori smiled, gazing down at her tunic's vibrant sleeves, a gentle smile gracing the features of her face. Elori was chosen by Adaara and she wore the mark of her belief every day.  
And like Adaara, she too had pride, and the prospect of making something from the antler was an opportunity she couldn’t afford to miss.

Virelle, however, wasn’t so easily convinced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for part 3!


	4. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felen leads them up the mountain.

The next morning, Virelle woke to the sad sound of Felen’s whining.  
  
“It was a cruel deed, Great Leader!”   
  
“Then let me be cruel; I do not care,” Adaara answered, her voice level, almost daring as she stood beside the dying embers.   
  
Felen frowned, his grey eyes dimming in defeat.   
  
From what she gathered, Adaara caught a beetle with a luminous shell; it hadn’t survived the cold of the winter—or maybe it died another way. But nevertheless, she took it, plucked it from its shallow grave, set it in her box, and began to examine its metallic wings. Felen wanted to touch it—as it somehow reminded him of another hunting story—but Adaara refused him selfishly.  It was a silly exchange, trivial and not worth pursuing, but there was something about their stubborn stances, the way they spoke and bantered so seriously that warmed Virelle’s heart completely.   
  
Adaara could still be silly.   
  
The argument between, however,  them was all but forgotten when they reached the base of the mountain on the very same day. What should have been joy, however, was replaced with an overwhelming feeling of dread.   
  
“Broken hedges,” Felen pointed out, “And horse prints.” He touched his hand to the frost-laden ground.   
  
“Could they be from the Avaar?” Adaara asked, pressing the pads of her fingers together in a gesture of thought.   
  
“I don’t think so. You see the way they seem to backtrack? Its like they were leading a stubborn mule. It makes me think these are hunters with less experience like they don’t know what they’re doing. What do you think?”   
  
He turned to Virelle, who walked along the prints leading up the winding path.   
  
“There’s a large group of them. Maybe 10. 12 if two were on horses.”   
  
“We should be on alert,” Felen told them. “Anyone seeking passage to Ferelden would have gone through Gherlen’s Pass. They’re probably after bear pelts but there's a chance they might be thieves.”   
  
They agreed.   
  
The path was too narrow for their wagon so they were made leave it behind. Thus they gathered themselves and their packs slowly, sure to grab the sled Felen used for hunting to tie their baskets down. Then, Adaara raised her arms in a sweeping gesture, calling forth the roots from below the ground. They responded with vigor, bursting from the frozen soil and pull their ride into the underbrush.   
  
Virelle whined. 

“What are you doing?” She asked, moving toward the bushes with her arms stretched wide.   
  
“Don’t be dramatic, I wouldn’t destroy our way home; I'm making it so it won’t be seen.” Virelle looked forward, thinning her eyes so that she could see.   
  
Though it was dark and the vines wove tight around its body, the wagon was, in fact, fine.   
  
So they took a moment to collect themselves and headed up the mountain in a single file line.   
  
  
Occasionally, their party would stop and Felen would uncover something that took them all another way; There were times even Virelle wasn’t sure what he saw but differed to his judgment anyway.   
  
“I just feel lucky,” He’d say, but this was the first time Adaara allowed another to take the lead.   
  
They needed to be more than lucky.   
  
So they forwent the path altogether and made their way through the trees. The pines were dense and every so often a branch would reach forward to smack someone, usually Elori, in the face. But as the days stretched, the pines gave way to sparse bushes and long stretches of land for the animals to graze.  At night, Adaara used her magic to weave a dome of branches and vine. It was high enough not to burn beneath the heat of their cookfire and mostly functioned as protection against unseen beasts.  They pitched their tents beneath it and continued keeping watch in rotating shifts.   
  
There was no sign of Hanal'ghilan.   
  
But still they remained optimistic, or at least they tried.  Elori and Virelle talked about their clan mostly; how the others were fairing; whether or not they’d be the first to arrive in Halamshiral; and how Mera was taking to her new responsibilities. (Adaara had a strong opinion on that point specifically.)   
  
“You’re aware that the Sabrae Clan moved to the Free Marches aren't you? They were in the path of the blight.” Elori told Felen, the natural conclusion to a long conversation they'd been having. He seemed to notice her weariness and sought to distract her by talking as the group marched around a particularly large rock.   
  
“Really? Had I known that I would have paid them a visit. One of their hunters—” He froze.   
  
Felen stopped suddenly, thrusting out his arm as a sign for the rest to do the same.   
  
He was uncharacteristically quiet as he looked above them and slowly took aim with his bow.   
  
But he didn’t shoot.   
  
Instead, he looked toward Virelle and she quickly unsheathed her sword.   
  
“Looks like we’ve become the hunted.” When he finally shot the arrow it skirted the rocks above them swiftly, and something unleashed a mighty roar.   
  
Adaara took to her magic in an instant, grabbing her staff the instant a feline creature appeared.  Elori gasped behind them, her legs shaking in fear. The creature growled, revealing a jaw that was crowded with teeth, a cavern of white against its russet pelt, lined with black and gray.   
  
It was the famed Red Lion, looking for prey.   
  
“I’d like to see Fenarel make that shot,” Felen beamed, proud to see his arrow sticking out from the shoulder of the beast.   
  
It roared again as if to answer, and Virelle pulled Elori behind her with ease.   
  
“Don’t be scared,” Felen told them, calm as though nothing strange was happening.   
  
His voice held little of the joy he always presented, instead, he sounded sure, sturdy, as though he already knew how this would end. He’d boast and cheer but when it mattered most, nature welcomed Felen easily. It was as though he’d moved with it, understood it, shared the same heartbeat; he was truly the greatest hunter their clan had ever seen.   
  
But when the Red lion’s body lunged forward, moving with striking speed, it was meant with magic, not arrows, flying through the air. It all happened so quickly: Felen pulled another arrow from his quiver but before he had the chance to pull the string, the beast was struck by a streak of lightning.   
  
It fell to the ground and snarled, yet somehow struggled back to its feet.   
  
“I don’t fear beasts,” Adaara stepped forward as if to meet it, a great ball of fire blooming in her hands, “They should fear me-” But as she prepared herself to throw it, Felen pulled her back by the arm.   
  
Adaara lost her footing and fell to the ground, the thud accompanied by an embarrassing yelp as her fire vanished quickly.   
  
He shot another arrow and it landed straight between the eyes of the beast.   
  
The world went quiet around them but Felen grinned cheerfully, his smile wide and bearing teeth.   
  
“I-”   
  
“How dare you!” Adaara spoke with a glare as feral as the beasts.   
  
He froze immediately. And Virelle might have giggled had she not been flooded with relief. Elori slacked against her shoulder, nearly fainting.   
  
They stood in silence together, content to listen to Adaara and Felen’s bickering.   
  
“You’ll pay for that!”   
  
“Burning down the woods would have been a terrible thing, Great Leader!”   
  
“I could have handled it.” Adaara, clearly affronted, crossed her arms indignantly. Felen grinned, and pat her shoulder as if to comfort a younger sibling.   
  
Virelle blinked, her thoughts folding together quickly. They acted like a pair of siblings—and Adaara seemed so happy.   
  
And it was in that moment something seemed to break or melt between them. Virelle’s heart began to swell, joy filling her heart till she burst open with laughter.   
  
Adaara glared at her, her gold eyes thinning.   
  
“Is there something funny, Virelley?”   
  
“The way you went for the Red Lion—what you said— and then he—” Her sentence was broken by fits of giggles that only added to the red growing on Adaara's face.   
  
“Would you like to be next? Is that what you want?” She threatened, summoning the fire back into her hands.   
  
Nevertheless, Virelle couldn’t stop laughing. Her laughter then made Felen laugh and even Elori failed to withhold a quiet chuckle as they continued marching.   


* * *

  
  
Killing the Red Lion only made him more confident so they picked up their pace and traveled till evening. They made another fire beneath their shelter and warmed themselves with laughter and stories.   
  
“Let's have a cheer for our fearless leader,” Felen teased, lifting his portion of salted meat and pickled lemons.   
  
Adaara stayed quiet and looked to the side, still stewing in embarrassment.   
  
And even though she lashed out when Virelle and Elori raised their food in return, her glared seemed a little softer, as though it lost its edge.   
  
They talked about who they wanted to see at the Arlathvhen and how they longed for their return to Nevarra and the brilliant summer heat.   
  
“You know who I’m not looking forward to seeing?” Felen began, “ The Ralaferin clan.” Adaara agreed.   


* * *

  
  
Later that night, Virelle took the second watch with Felen. It was nearing sunrise but the fire kept strong, feeding off their kindling.   
  
“Do you think we’ll find her?” Virelle asked, looking out into the clear morning sky. “Hanal'ghilan?”   
  
“Of course. We’re close on her trail.” Felen told her, confident as always as he fiddled with his bow.   
  
“How do you know?” They could be trailing Hanal'ghilan or a different animal entirely.   
  
“What do you see when you’re tracking?”   
  
“You know, the same things you do; footprints, broken twigs, whether or not there are signs of grazing—oh, do you want to know the secret? Of being a good tracker?” Had he not been plucking on the strings of his bow, Felen would have cupped the side of his mouth and leaned toward the fire mischievously. And though Virelle could almost hear the joke coming, she nodded resolutely.   
  
“It’s to be very lucky.”   
  
She sighed and Felen laughed a little too loudly.  He looked over at the tents but when no one stirred or shouted, he beamed.   
  
“Do you know any stories of Hanal'ghilan?" He asked suddenly, "How she grants fortune to Elves in need?”   
  
“Of course, we all do.”   
  
“They’re more stories than the one the Hahren’s tell us, stories only the Keepers know. Hanal'ghilan is ancient; as old as anything I can think of.” He began, looking up into the sky dreamily. “Some of them are exaggerated for sure but most are true; I mean they have to be. I saw her.”   
  
“You saw Hanal'ghilan? When?” A rush of excitement rippled through her like a wave.   
  
“Once,” he told her, “Years ago; When I had to prove I was ready for my Vallaslin; I got my foot caught between two rocks in a river and happened to look up when I tried to pull myself free. When I saw her, everything was quiet—it was like time stopped moving. She was drinking from the river. At first, I thought it was one of our Halla who’d gotten free but then she looked at me. Well, we just looked at each other and then she turned to leave.” He recalled. “And from then I just felt really lucky.”   
  
“Lucky?” Virelle thought for a moment.   
  
She’s heard him say that countless times, something about himself being lucky.   
  
Could that be the reason Felen tracked so well?   
  
Did Hanal'ghilan grant him good fortune?   
  
Or was he simply just that? Lucky?   
  
“Exactly. After I got free, I went and took home that Wild Hart. I told Keeper Deshanna what I saw but she just told me to ‘hold my fortune closely.’ I took that to mean don’t tell anybody so I didn’t—except my parents and my partner—Adaara knows too, that’s why she asked me to come—and now you—but that’s it. I haven’t even told my little brother.”   
  
“But if its a secret then why tell me?”   
  
“Well,” He leaned back as far as he could without falling. “ I just don’t want you to worry. The weather will turn soon but we’ll find Hanal'ghilan before that. It’s strange but it’s like I can feel her close to me; We’re nearby.”   
  
Virelle hummed, gazing out into the great expanse of the sky.   
  
“You said the Keepers know all the stories; do you think Adaara knows?”   
  
“I don’t see why she wouldn’t. Our Great Leader is shaping up to be a strong Keeper, she’s got to know by now.” There was something fond within his voice, something like a sense of pride.   
  
It reminded her of her earlier revelation, the way the two of them behaved.   
  
“You sound happy.”   
  
“Do I?” He laughed boldly. “I suppose I am; after all, it seems like only yesterday when the three of you were running around playing with Meridan.” He sighed wistfully, his thoughts most likely stuck on the days before three became two.   
  
He was quiet.   
  
“Y’know, after Tharos left I didn’t know how she’d cope; I mean everything seemed to happen all at once—Tharos getting magic, the other first leaving, Mera getting magic right after, Tharos going too.” Felen sighed, looked toward the tent, then smiled.   
  
“It’s good to know she still has you.”   
  
Virelle blinked, her cheeks warm despite the chill of the night.   
  
“You think?”   
  
“Of course.   
  
You know how she is, she’d never confess to it but you help keep her head on her shoulders. Why do you think she asked you to come along?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for part 4!


End file.
